It's a Wonderful, Wonderful Time
by Marta TP
Summary: Delphine has been guilty of some mild stalking. It's not her fault, really... It's the bartender that's entirely too adorable. A Cophine Christmas Special (with little mention of the season... oops). Really just an excuse for some fluff and a bit of smut.


**A/N: yes, I know it's late. ironically the Xmas celebrations kept me from finishing the story in due time. Some fluff and smut to lighten the season. Hope you like it.**

**Many thanks to my beta for her awesome work.**

I don't even like the ambiance. What the hell am I doing here?

The place is just a block down from my building, I've passed by its door many times in the last year since I've moved into the neighborhood, and yet, it had never crossed my mind to get in. It wasn't until a colleague's debacle of a birthday party that I've entered the place. The music was too loud, the drinks too watered down and expensive for the crap they serve, the lighting is all wrong, the rock motif decor just plain atrocious. I'm sure it's some people's thing… just not mine personally. And still, I find myself coming here four nights a week - yes, because I know her schedule - for the last three months.

_Does this constitute stalking? Should I be worried about my sanity? _

But she smiles every time she sees me coming through the door, even produces a subtle wave when she's not busy pouring a drink to a customer. And the moment she's free she comes over to the table where I usually sit, a toothy smile on her lips.

"The usual, then?" She asks, the wide grin plastered on her face.

Yes, I do have a freaking usual by now. "You know it," I answer every time with a nod and a red face. Yes, after all this time I still blush like a freaking teenager.

"Okay," she nods. "Be back in a jiffy."

And there she goes, preparing my usual drink: scotch, neat. To put it gently, it's crap in a glass - they don't carry any of my favourite labels. Still I down it throughout the couple of hours I allow myself to stay and subtly stare.

Now… I'm not entirely stupid, mind you. I always have something with me to keep me company. Lab reports to go over, prep work for some sort of presentation, and if things are slow at work, there's always a reliable book I can bring with me. I don't want her to think I have nothing better to do with my evenings than spending them in some crappy bar… by myself… _Oh dear, she must think I'm the most boring person to ever walk the Earth._ I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I'd come with other people, but then I'd have to justify to others my sudden interest in classic rock and shitty scotch.

I _do _have friends, co-workers mostly, and I _do _spend time with them. Just not four nights in a week… it's really not as bad as it sounds, right?_ I should just ask her out_, is what I tell myself every night after I leave. It'd certainly spare me the hassle of having to go to the same bar so often. What's the worse thing that could happen, right?

...Well, she could say no, of course. And then what would I do four nights a week…? Other than rest, or spend time with my friends, or actually get some work or reading done, because obviously I get to do none of those things while I'm here. Sure, I bring work or books, but they're merely props - something I use not to look quite so sad and pathetic. That's right, because I spend the entire night stealing glances her way. The confidence with which she moves, how she always has a smile to offer even when the day has been long and she's clearly tired. How she lip syncs some of the most recognizable songs, how her waist sways at the rhythm of the beats while she walks from table to table - her dreadlocked hair pinned on top of her head, giving me an unobstructed view of her beautiful feature: strong jawline, pierced nose. The black tank top she uses allows a sight to her defined arms and shoulders as she prepares and carries the drinks… _Yep, maybe I should be worried_.

This morning, though, I've made a decision. Yes, today is the day I'll ask her out and put an end to my misery. No more loud music, no more stealing glances and smiles and waves across the room. It's well overdue, I should have done it three months ago when I first noticed her. I don't know why I didn't do it immediately. I wouldn't describe myself as shy, it certainly wouldn't be the first time I asked a woman out. I never had issues with it and, to this day, I don't know what kept me from doing it then. Perhaps it was because of the circumstances: surrounded by co-workers halfway to shitfaced barely constitutes to an ideal first conversation.

But now it's time, this night I'm determined to make it happen. Of course it sounds so much easier in my head, during a shower after a good night's sleep. After a day of work though, not so much.

I pace myself walking to the bar, the nerves bubbling in my stomach, slowing my steps. Despite the sluggish steps, I notice nothing on my way there. Suffering from some sort of tunnel vision, my stare is locked down the street. Occasionally, I lower my eyes to the ground, watching with curiosity as one foot moves in front of the other as if it's someone else's steps. This is the closest I've ever been to an out-of-body experience.

When I raise my head again, my entire body deflates. There's actually a fucking line to get inside. I mean, the place is kinda popular amongst 30-year-olds and it can get busy in there, but a line is definitely a novelty.

My steps stutter, I hesitate. Maybe it's best to forget about it and try some other time. It's with a weird combination of disappointment and relief that I spin on my heels and begin to retrace my steps, back the way I came from. Once I'm back home, I'll know which of the two emotions is more prevalent.

"Hi! It's you!" I hear behind me.

Should I be worried that I know who's talking just by those three words? _Nah, it's probably fine. Yes_, I nod to myself,_ completely fine_.

I turn back around and see her in the alley, moving away from the garbage dumpster. She has a coat on, but what immediately attracts my attention is the comical pink reindeer antler-headband perched on her head.

"Oh...hi," I manage to say, trying to control the inappropriate giggles raising from my chest.

"Leaving already?" She asks, giving a couple of steps to my direction, but not really coming out to the main street.

"Yeah, it seems a bit crowded tonight," I reply, looking to my right side and seeing the line getting longer as four people join it.

She nods, the ornament on top of her head dangles and sparkles with the Christmas street lights reflecting all sort of colours. "Yep, a little out of control today," she smiles. "Christmas party and all…"

"I can see." I smile as well, my eyes moving to the ridiculous apparatus on top of her head.

"Ah well… the boss thought it would be funny." Her hand moves up and she flicks the thing but doesn't actually remove it. "Of course she wouldn't be so happy if she had been the one required to wear it, but Sarah has a unique sense of humor."

"If I had known I would've come sooner, make sure I'd get a table, just to see it for a little longer," I comment, stifling a chuckle.

"Do you enjoy watching other people suffer? Is that your thing?" I'd be concerned that I've offended her if it wasn't for the smile that accompanies her questions and the little step she gives in my direction, stopping just on the edge of the alley.

"I think you look cute, but I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that," I answer without really processing the words through my brain. When I realize what I've said I feel my face heating up despite the cold night.

She tilts her head, a slight narrowing of her eyes and a smile that I can only describe as sly stretches her lips. "So you do understand the pain I'm in." She keeps it light.

"I think you'll survive this trial." I assure her with amusement, relief that she doesn't put me on the spot about my remark.

The silence lasts for an unhealthy amount of time. I bite my lip, unsure of what to say next, but certain that I really don't want this small conversation to end.

"Well, I better go," she eventually says. "There's only so much time you can take to take out the trash."

The laughter that escapes me is a nervous, weird and totally embarrassing sound. "Of course." I chastise myself for it. I'm usually much smoother than this, truly. It's completely unacceptable how I cannot talk to her without sounding like an idiot.

I lower my head to the ground and start to walk away, shaking my head to myself, disappointment filling my mind. And just like that, an opportunity squandered. Why does it seem so difficult to just ask her out for a cup of coffee? _Hi, you're absolutely adorable, would you like to go out for coffee or something?_ There! It's not hard, it's not rocket science! What the fucking…

"Hey!" I hear her as I feel a hand curl around my elbow, but the contact ends the moment I turn my head to her with a questioning look. "I'm…" she begins, but stops, a sudden shyness crosses her features. The unexpected shift makes me smile and it seems to give her the push she needs. "I'm the sorry ass who has to work on Christmas Eve," she restarts. "It should be much slower and I get out early… if you want, you could stop by."

Well, it isn't the strangest invitation I've ever received, but it's definitely in the top five.

"I mean… you probably have plans," she's shaking her head and gives a couple of steps back. "Normal people do."

"No, no…" I hurriedly say to put her mind at ease. My hesitation was definitely not because I've even considered to refuse, I was simply caught by surprise. "I guess I'm not very normal, though."

"Oh shit! That's so not what I meant," she waves her arms, clearly panicking a little, and it's entirely too adorable.

It's instinct that compels me to reach for her arms and steady them. "I know what you meant. It sounds nice," I assure her with a smile. But her eyes are no longer on mine, I follow their path and realize that we're holding hands, the tip of both my thumbs lightly brushing the inside of her wrists. _The hell?! Why did I do that?_ It's my turn to panic and I immediately release her, shoving my hands inside my pockets before they get me into even more trouble.

"I'll see you then," I say after clearing my throat.

"Yes… yes!" The second time she says it sounds more assertive. "See you then!" She spins around, but promptly spins back to me. "Oh… I'm Cosima, by the way."

I facepalm myself internally. _Of course, names! Names are important!_ "Delphine."

Again her smile makes an appearance with undeniable mirth. "Delphine, okay." She tests the name on her lips and doesn't move for a few seconds.

"Shouldn't you head back?" I ask, entertained.

"Fuck!" She literally facepalms, the antlers of her headband swing with the movement. "Right, I should go!"

She walks away, this time permanently, but not before she throws a look over her shoulder and, it seems, she's given me a subtle wink, but I could be seeing things.

_Well, that worked out… after a fashion_.

* * *

The next couple of days go by slowly and fast at the same time. That's normal - everyone seems more preoccupied with sneaking out to do some last minute Christmas shopping than to get any actual work done, which makes for very slow office hours. But when I pause to think about it, I realize I'm not nearly ready for my… date? meeting? kinda just hang out? with Cosima.

What if we have nothing to say to each other or have nothing in common? That'll make for a very awkward date - and I've had my fair share of those to last me a lifetime. And for the sake of clarity, I decided I'm just gonna call it a date - it's what I want and until I'm proven wrong I'm gonna go with it. Not only that, but when I go over our previous - and yes, very few - interactions, it's the only reasonable conclusion I can reach. Sure, as far as we've agreed, it's just like any other night. Cosima will be working, maybe less busy than usual, but we'll be at her workplace nonetheless. She did mention she'd get out earlier, and while we didn't agree that we'd be doing something after, the implication was there. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it.

Something tells me I'm not, however. Something in her smile, Cosima's entire body language told me that she wasn't oblivious to my… interest, and not only did she seem comfortable with it, she seems to encourage it as well. Of course this could all be just wishful thinking, but I'm usually pretty good at reading other people's signs, especially if they're as obvious as Cosima's seem to be in my perspective. Still… there's something about her that makes me doubt one of my best and most reliable qualities. She could just be nice, after all. But she did take the initiative, right? That's a pretty damn good sign.

The day in question brings the worst of my nerves with it. I don't have to work but I'd welcome the distraction, no matter how flimsy it would be. For some reason I decide that the best way to pass the time is to clean up the apartment. It's not truly messy, the only things out of place are the signs one would expect to find in a lived-in house. Still, I do the laundry, wipe the barely there particles of dust from the furniture, and vacuum the floor of the entire apartment. Yet when I'm done I still have several hours left to burn. It's mid-afternoon, which means it's probably best to videochat with my family back in France, where the night has fully set and my family is gathered to celebrate Christmas. And while I _do _miss them, spending Christmas alone was my choice. I never cared too much for it. Sure, it's good to have the family together but I've never been too fond of grand gatherings. In my next visit home I'll make the rounds, visit everyone, but it'll be in small, easier to digest doses. In fact, before Cosima's invitation, the plan was to make it a movie night - the only sign of celebration would be a nice bottle of red wine which I bought for that purpose. I've even declined a few invitations from my co-workers, and the reason is simple: if I can hardly survive a night with my own family, I seriously doubt I could survive a night with someone else's.

Cosima and I never agreed on a time to meet, which looking back, is pretty damn stupid. But after spending the entire day running around my apartment like a maniac, I decide that a couple more hours won't make a difference. Besides, I don't want to give her the impression that I'm too eager to see her by showing up much earlier than usual - no matter how true that is. I have my dignity after all.

So I take my sweet, sweet time. I made myself a light meal and treated myself to a long shower. With a towel wrapped around my torso, I stand before my closet's open door, staring at my clothes unsure of what to wear. My fingertips brush over my collection of tailored skirts and pants, most in various shades of professional gray, a neutral colour here and there; either choice would work for me, it's my work uniform, I feel comfortable in it and it's appropriate for any occasion. However, my eyes move along and land on one of the ends of the closet, to a side that I rarely take a second look.

My dress collection is abysmal and not much more colorful than the rest, but I feel like this might be the perfect opportunity to pull one of them out. My choice lands on a black dress which - granted, has a skirt that's entirely too short for the cold night, and I'm not gonna even dwell on the open back - fits me well and it's all that matters. What are coats for, anyway? Once I've slipped my feet into the high heel shoes that I know I'll regret the moment I step on icy pavement and wrapped a salmon scarf around my neck, I'm ready to leave. Yeah, I have my dignity, but I'm also determined to make an impression.

Cosima wasn't wrong. There's no one at the door, not even the bouncer. Inside, aside from two couples and a man at the bar, the place is deserted. I look around, trying to find her, but only the man at the bar turns his head to look at me and I realize it's the bouncer. He gives me a smile and his head turns around again. He says something that I can't quite make from where I stand, despite the music playing much softer from the speakers.

Seconds later, she appears, coming out from a back door, carrying a crate of beer bottles. Momentarily I'm distracted by the flex of her biceps as she lifts it to place it on the countertop. I shake my head slightly and manage to produce a smile when I see her raise the counter and walk towards me.

"Hi," Cosima greets me with her signature toothy grin.

"Hi yourself." I smile. I've spend the day going over a variety of scenarios in my head, making sure I had every possibility covered, maybe that's why I feel calm for the most part - or is it confident?

That same confidence grows when I shed my coat and notice her eyes slowly roaming across my body, her throat moves up and down as she swallows dryly. I high five myself internally, thoroughly satisfied with the response I get from her. When her hazel eyes refocus on mine, I can't help the smirk which takes residence in my lips.

"I'm going to take a seat," I say with amusement in my voice.

My words seem to have bring her back to the moment and Cosima nods. "Sure, as you can see there's no lack of empty tables."

Even so, I walk to my usual spot (yes, along with my usual drink, I have a usual spot) - a table in a corner of the room which I choose because it allows me a view of the entire space. And while tonight that won't be a problem, it happens to be located at a reasonable distance from the few patrons the bar has. I plop down on the cushion-covered sofa and place my coat next to me. She follows me but stands on the opposite side of the table, looking at me with a look of expectation.

"The usual, I guess," I order, looking up at her and noticing the corner of her lip twitching up cunningly.

"Actually, no." Cosima shakes her head and without further explanation, she steps back and walks to the counter.

With a raised eyebrow, I watch her go and lift the top of the counter, moving inside. She disappears into the backdoor and re-emerges a few seconds later with a bottle in hand. My curiosity rises as she reaches for two glasses while talking with the bouncer in what seems like an animated conversation. He has nothing better to do, really, other than nurse the bottle of sparkling water he's been drinking. No one has come in since I arrived and the two couples keep to themselves, relaxing and drinking and laughing occasionally. The young woman of the couple closest to the counter - already with a few empty bottles in between her and her man - lifts one of the said bottles and raises two fingers to Cosima, signalling another round. She gives them a thumbs up and goes to serve them, before going back to the bar, picking up the interesting bottle and two glasses, and coming back to my table.

"Maybe this will be more to your liking," Cosima says with a pleased grin as she settles the bottle on the table, the label turned to me so I can read it. I pick up the bottle, inspect it and turn my eyes to her, frowning, expecting an explanation.

"I noticed the grimace you make every time you drink your usual order," she explains, smiling and taking the bottle from my hand, and breaking the seal when she unscrews the cap. "So I figured you'd like something a bit more…" Cosima pauses, a look of concentration in her face as she tries to find the right word. "Pretentious," she decides it's the best way to describe my taste.

I chuckle. "Not pretentious, just better," I correct her, accepting the glass she extends to me. "Much better."

And it is. Even the scent the liquor emits as she pours it into the glass that I keep raised is much softer, the colour a prefect dark amber. I take a good swig under Cosima's attentive stare and feel the distinctive burn of good scotch down my throat. It's not abrasive, not as crude as the one I'm usually served. It's smooth, liquid heat, not fire. The slight smoky caramel end of the sherry cask-matured spirit makes me sigh in satisfaction.

"So much better," I repeat, setting down the glass and scooching a bit to the side, patting the free space next to me, silently inviting her to sit. "But you didn't have to, Cosima."

She sits and fills the other glass. "I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to. Call it a Christmas gift if it makes you feel any better," she says, taking the glass to her lips. "Wow! This shit's good!" Cosima reaches for the bottle and takes a closer look at the label.

I laugh, but in the back of my mind there's a sudden concern. Should I've brought her something? I obviously know it's Christmas and all, but I didn't expect her to actually give me something. The thought didn't even cross my mind for a millisecond as I worried and got excited about tonight in the few days that passed since her invitation. As if that isn't enough, I'm familiar with this brand of scotch and I know it doesn't come cheap. The more I think about it, the guiltier I feel.

"I should've brought you something," I murmur, my head bent to hide my embarrassment.

Cosima doesn't say anything and I wonder if she even heard what I said. I look at her and see her staring at me with an intense gaze, her brow slightly raised, as if she wants to say something. But the only thing she does is break the eye contact and bring the glass to her lips for a generous swing.

"You're here to save me from boredom," she comments in a casual tone. "That's good enough." Cosima finishes the sentence with a soft smile, but something in her eyes tells me that's not exactly what she was thinking just moments ago.

"Seems like an unfair bargain for you." I return the more somber look she gave me and go for my glass.

"We'll see about that." The soft smile is momentarily gone, and I can't read the enigmatic expression she gives, as if she knows something I don't.

I find myself struggling to control my thoughts. The confidence I felt earlier dissolving under Cosima's cryptic answer and intense scrutiny. I may be reading too much into her comment - seeing innuendos where there are none - but the direction my thoughts take me causes me to bite my lower lip, my eyes unable to move from her, even my body seems to have gain a mind of its own, leaning ever so closely. Is that really all it takes? A small fraction of hope - that might very well be only in my brain - and my rational side is down for the count?

I'm almost certain my reaction doesn't go unnoticed by Cosima. She senses the sudden shift in the energy I exude, I can see it in the self-satisfied smirk forming on her lips. But I'm not alone, Cosima's not nearly as discreet in her reaction, she adjusts herself on the comfortable sofa, turning so her body is facing me, placing one leg under herself. And it only makes me lean closer to her, my eyes setting on her features only after they've had their fill, traveling the confident posture of her petite frame. The whole thing doesn't take longer than ten seconds, but in that short period of time, my own body's reaction goes from comfortably relaxed to deliciously tensed. The kind of tension that pulls at my gut and causes a soft hum to course through every part of me. The kind that could lead to something amazing or cause a lot of trouble, depending on the ultimate outcome.

"So… I have a question," Cosima says in a soft voice, a smile dancing in her eyes, which have somehow become brighter. I raise a curious brow and she sees it as a sign to move even closer, her knee bumping against my upper thigh. "How come you've never asked me out?"

The question is made with a boldness that manages to catch me completely off guard. There's no hesitation in her words, it was something that didn't require any thought process on her part, as if the question has been always there in the surface of her mind. I'm the one who struggles to produce any sort of response, my brain refusing to find a coherent group of words to form a sentence and it's entirely too unacceptable. I consider myself actually good at this, but she has completely disarmed me with her audacity.

"I mean… I could be wrong," Cosima reinforces when my brain continues to refuse to cooperate. "But I've seen you watching me, and it's obvious you don't come here for our shitty scotch." She chuckles at the end, taking away any judgement one could perceive in her affirmation.

"Maybe I like the music," I eventually regain the capability to spill out a few words.

"Do you?" Cosima raises a brow.

"No, not particularly," I admit with a laugh. "Why didn't you?" I hate how I sound a little too defensive.

"Asked you out?" She asks, and I nod affirmatively. "This is my workplace, Delphine, I cannot go around asking for clients' numbers." She shakes her head. "Besides, I did ask you out… well, sorta."

I hum. "Do you have many clients asking your number?"

"I… no, not really." She smiles innocently and I know it's a shameless lie.

"Right…" I murmur unconvinced.

"Why don't you just answer my damn question," she says, clearly wanting to refocus the spotlight on me.

"I should have… I wanted to, but…" I release a deep breath. "I chickened out the first couple of times and then I thought it would've gotten weird… I don't know." As I spill out my confession in a torrent of words, I can't look at her, my eyes fixated on the glass set on the table, my finger tracing it's ring. "It's pathetic, I know, but it's the God's honest truth."

I don't know what sort of response I should expect to my admission, but a deep laugh is definitely pretty low on my list of conjectures, and yet that's exactly what Cosima does. I finally gather the courage to raise my head and when my eyes narrow at her, Cosima tries to control the laughter bubbling up her chest.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me!" She says between hardly muffled chuckles. "You're the one who has heartbreaker written all over."

If I'm completely honest with myself, I really can't disagree with her observation. And it's not like I have a trail of broken hearts behind me or like I'm a serial dater, but I really don't have any problems going after what I want, who I want. Come to think about it, I did have this coming. It was well-overdue for me to find someone who'd completely break my self-assurance, my confidence. And the fact that it comes in the form of a petite woman with an honest smile and bold words to boot makes it incredibly ironic. I suppose it's universe's way of giving me an amused middle finger.

But I'll take it, as long as the outcome is something amazing.

For now though, I'm completely speechless. How does one answer to that, anyway? My brain is in a knot, yet again, after barely having time to recover from the first shake. Cosima, for her part, appears to be incredibly satisfied with her accomplishment: an arrogant grin on her lips, her brown eyes bright with mischief and glued to my expression, appreciating the result of her diligence.

I should point out her arrogance, I should tell her that she doesn't seem to be any better than me. But she's leaning forward, her arm stretching on the headrest of the couch, her forearm brushing the back of my neck, her face moving much closer to mine.

"And more interesting is that I think you know it." Cosima's voice drops, acquiring a teasing overtone that goes well with the shine of her eyes. Her right hand is on the move, fingertips brushing against the fabric of my dress, playing with its lower edge as her knuckles skim lightly over the skin of my thigh. "Otherwise why would you be wearing this skimpy little number that's completely inappropriate for the weather?"

Just that small contact is electrifying, I'm keenly aware of the path her digits trace, the coil in the pit of my stomach tightens even more. "It doesn't seem like you're particularly bothered by it," I say, my tone equally low.

Cosima smiles, an amused little thing that has wickedness dancing in her eyes. "I just don't want you to be cold."

"There are many ways one can get warm," I answer, my confidence returning not on its own as it's sparked by Cosima's playfulness. "Not all of them involve adding layers of clothes."

"No, it doesn't." Her smile stretches larger, she's confident enough to lean into me, her hand grows bolder, her touch firmer. "Sometimes, it is exactly the opposite."

"Sometimes…" I'm the one who closes what little space there's between us. But we barely make any meaningful contact before someone calls Cosima name.

"Oh for fucks sake…" She whispers, her head lowering but keeping it close enough for my lips to end on her forehead.

I laugh a little at the obvious frustration in her voice. "Someone has great timing."

She pushes back and looks in the direction where the voice came. The bouncer is the culprit of the untimely interruption, but the ultimate guilty party is the couple near the register. "Hold that thought," she says to me and stands up.

While I watch her leave I can feel my body complain about the loss of Cosima's warm touch. The heat of the good scotch that I drink is a poor substitute for the warmth of her skin. My eyes never leave her, I see her smile despite the annoying interruption, even making small talk with the customers as she continues working, putting the bill on the balcony.

The other couple still inside notices the interaction and goes up to their feet as well, walking to the register where Cosima repeats the action. It doesn't take long for me to be the only costumer left inside the bar. However, that doesn't make Cosima come back to me immediately. She moves to where the sound system is and after a moment of silence, the music changes from the typical classic rock that's usually playing to a more neutral lounge sound.

"You can go, Frank," I hear her say to the bouncer. "I'll lock everything up."

The man stands up and gives her a small nod. "Alright," he says, but even from this distance I can see the smart smile on his lips. "Have a good one…"

Cosima doesn't approach me, she barely even looks at me. She's clearing the tables, taking the bottles to the bin on the other side of the counter and washing the glasses. When Frank returns from the backroom, coat already over his shoulders and waves Cosima goodbye, she's nearly done with the little cleaning she needed to do.

I consider playing it coy, but what's the point, really? I've already waited three long months to make a move - if you can call accepting an invitation a move. The anxiety I feel isn't dissuasive enough to keep me from getting up, picking up the glasses and bottle still on the table, and going to where she is. I sit on one of the bar stools and rest my chin on my hand, watching her but saying nothing.

"That's kinda creepy, you know," Cosima says when she finally turns, using a cloth to dry her hands.

"I merely want to continue the conversation we were having," I say nonchalantly, shrugging.

Cosima tries to hide her smirk, being only half successful. "Where exactly were we?" She teases, moving along the counter. "I don't quite remember."

My own smile is wide open, my eyes follow her as she raises the bar and walks to me. "That's disappointing, it was a very remarkable conversation."

"Something to do with clothes…" Cosima touches her lips with her index finger, as if she's trying to remember. Her steps are deliberately slow, the smirk on full display now. "Or the absence of them…"

My head is turned to the side, so I can watch her, but when she's next to me, Cosima makes my seat spin around, so I'm facing her with my back pressed against the counter, my elbows resting on it. "Something along those lines… yes," I nod, watching the tip of her tongue briefly pull at her lower lip before she bites it.

"Ways to keep warm," her voice drops again, "I distinctly remember that."

My stare never leaves her face, even as Cosima makes room for herself between my legs. I can feel the pleasant heat of her body being pressed against mine, both her hands resting on my discovered knees in a touch that's barely there, as if she's giving me the opportunity to escape - even if that's the last thing on my mind. In this position we're at the same height and I only need to stretch my neck forward for our lips to touch.

"See, I knew you remember," I whisper. To make my intentions clearer, I hook my left ankle on her leg and the response form Cosima is immediate.

The kiss begins softly, almost tentatively as we get familiar with the shape of each other's lips - the fullness, the response one gets from the other. There's something incredibly unnerving about kissing someone for the first time, about that first intimate contact which can determine so much. However this time, while I do feel that anxiety pull at my gut, it's not fear that causes it. It's impatience. It's wanting more. More of her full lips moving against mine. More of her shape pressing me back against the counter. More of her hands moving with assurance up the side of my thighs. It's the need for more of her.

My impatience shows in my movements. My hands go to her hips, gripping the fabric of her tank top, tugging her closer to me, in the tightening of my legs, closing around her and in the sway forward of my waist. It's a weird dichotomy: while our kiss remains relatively chaste, our bodies seem to have gained a will of their own, not dictated by the limitations which we impose to our mouths. But even that loses its innocence when I feel Cosima's hands slide beneath the skirt of my dress, the warm palms of her hands cupping the top of my thighs, her fingers sinking into my skin. Then my strength breaks, my tongue gently probes Cosima's lips and she welcomes it with a soft moan.

But it's still not enough. My left hand raises to the back of her neck and pulls her closer. The right one keeps itself busy slipping inside, feeling the twitch of her abdomen as it moves up, the catch of her breath when it reaches its destination, palming the supple flesh of her breast over the fabric of her bra. There's no hesitation in my movements. How could there be when her body responds in kind? Her grip on my legs becomes firmer as her hand slowly moves inside, encouraging me to open wider. My head is swimming and I can't really blame it on a single glass of scotch, but I still have the clarity to realize we're fully making out in the middle of the bar Cosima works.

I pull away, just slightly, our noses still touching. "My apartment is pretty close, you know?" I mumble, but my brain is being shut down by Cosima's lips moving lower, traveling the length of my neck and her hands toying with the idea of skidding just a little bit further.

"I don't think we'll make it." I feel Cosima's words journey down my collarbone.

_Fuck it! If she's not worried about it, why should I?_ And just like that, my last barrier is breached, not that it was very solid to begin with. In a fluid motion I take off her shirt, I'm given a glance at Cosima's slightly pretentious smirk, her eyes on me with a sparkle of mischief.

It's a brief sight, only lasting as long as it takes me to unceremoniously drop her shirt and pull her by the back of her neck with both my hands. Our kisses are no longer a methodical exploration, they're filled with hunger and lust, a warmth that's born deep in my chest and expands throughout my entire body. It's a tongue that no longer requests permission, but invades. It's teeth tugging at my lower lip. It's deep sighs and soft moans as Cosima urgently works my dress over my head and immediately places an arm around my waist and presses herself against me with obvious intent. It's the fingertips of her free hand roaming down my throat, her intense stare following the path they take, her lips tracing the same imaginary lines she draws on my skin. It's her thumb lightly flicking my nipple, only to be immediately covered by her mouth, urged by my hand on her head.

Cosima pulls herself back, the pressure of her body for moments being replaced by the hand that she continues to move lower. However, when I'm convinced she'll keep going down, she pauses, her hand resting just short of the edge of its destination. She cants her head up, a raised brow with an unspoken question. My answer comes in the form of another consuming kiss as I pull her to me.

My own breath catches when, without breaking the kiss, Cosima's hand finishes the journey. If I was expecting a hurried encounter, I'd be deadly wrong. There's no rush to her movements, but she doesn't pause either. When her fingers smoothly slide down my sex and slip inside, her arm around my waist pulls me to her, assisting in making me feel completely engulfed by her. My world becomes Cosima, her mouth covering mine, muffling my groans, the rhythmical sway of her hips as her fingers sink into me and take their time coaxing every once of pleasure I have to give, her arm around me encouraging the motion, while at the same time keeping me steady.

Cosima doesn't have a lot of room to work, with her hand down my panties, but she makes good with the room she has. Curling the two fingers she has inside me and pulling out, finding the little nub that she teases with light brushes before moving lower again. The tension in my body only keeps raising with her strategy, my heart is threatening to break out of my chest, I can hear it thumping erratically in my ears, my breathes becoming increasingly shallower with each pull of her fingers.

With a deep groan I push her head back, being meet with the most adorable pretentious grin, and I realize Cosima has no intention of making this easy for me. I release an ungraceful "_merde_" and dip my head to her neck, one of my arms wraps around her shoulders to brace myself, while my other hand lowers to her chest, making a home on her breast, fondling it with little thoughtfulness. My body closes in around her, as I raise my legs to find support on her hips, my shoes fall in the process, and it only gives Cosima's fingers more room to work me into a moaning mess.

Her reach increases and she takes full advantage of it, the curl of her fingers becomes more deliberate, the sway of her hips keep pushing against me, aiding the pressure her digits apply. Even though I'm close to break, Cosima makes it last a little longer. Just as I'm about to fall over the edge, she pulls me back, just barely, her fingers come out to smoothly graze the nub. My legs shake with the subtle stimulation, but my hips surge forward eagerly, my body claiming the release Cosima has been denying me for what feels like a painfully delightful eternity, but an eternity nonetheless.

The release only comes once she decides to push into me again. The explosion is not exactly sudden, I can feel it coming, getting closer with each movement of Cosima against me. What catches me by surprise is its intensity, how wave after wave of pleasure runs through my body, each one demanding a little more energy than the previous one until I have nothing left to give.

There's a moment of complete stillness as we catch our breaths, but as soon as my body restarts to respond to my brain's directions, my hands begin to roam her lower back, my fingers trying to sneak into her jeans that are still annoyingly in my way. I hear her snort just before she tilts her head up, arches an eyebrow, not surprised but knowingly.

"You mentioned your house is close by," she comments, raising her lips to mine.

"Very," I answer, accepting the kiss.

"Good!" Cosima nods and steps back.

She lowers herself to grab the shirt that I've haplessly dropped on the floor and pulls it over her head with an undeniable rush to her gestures. Cosima was much more considerate than I am since I find my dress draped over the counter and I put it on just as fast.

She locks up quickly and only a few moments later we're walking down the street, our shoulders pressed against one another, our arms linked, as if to keep us from the cold. I'm not cold though, I still feel my body warm, humming, my cheeks flushed, but I appreciate the stability her body offers, making it easy to navigate the icy pavement.

"So, what are you doing for New Year's?" She asks me with a huge smile.

I smile back at her, my arm gently tugging her closer. "I haven't really thought about it," I answer in a casual way, "but you, I imagine."

Cosima throws her head back and laughs.


End file.
